


Sick of Isolation

by Laurasauras



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Anal Sex, Bulge Sucking (Homestuck), Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Coming In Pants, Coronavirus, Enemas, Isolation, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Roommates, Rutting, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23571628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/pseuds/Laurasauras
Summary: Prompt:Dave and Karkat are roommates, and they usually work opposite schedules and stay out of each others' ways. However, now they're both quarantined at home for 2 weeks. Turns out it's a lot harder to jerk off subtly when your roommate's right on the other side of the wall. Maybe one of them doesn't realize they're being loud, or maybe they do and they're getting off on it.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 112
Kudos: 689
Collections: Quarantinestuck (NSFW)





	1. Karkat: Pine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllDaveKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllDaveKat/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [AllDaveKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllDaveKat/pseuds/AllDaveKat) in the [QuarantinestuckNSFW](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/QuarantinestuckNSFW) collection. 



Dave wakes up at 9:30 at night on the dot, every damn night. You have a coffee waiting for him and he makes a wet kissy noise before he drinks it, every damn night. You go back to marking or lesson planning or, god forbid, relaxing. He does his “morning” routine and leaves for work at 10:30, just before you go to bed. He’s never home before you leave for work just before 8am and he’s asleep before you get home at 4. You see your roommate for maybe ten minutes a day, sometimes more on a weekend, and it’s been relentlessly predictable for over a year. 

It’s worked out great! You’re de-fucking-lighted that you’ve basically never had to see the person you live with. You’re comfortable around each other in ways that you never expected to be around someone you really don’t know. You can count on each other because your routines are like clockwork and you’ve never done anything to disrupt them. You spend the holidays with your family. When he was forced to use his holiday leave, he didn’t even adjust his sleep schedule, so the only disconcerting change was the absence of the front door closing when you expected it to. 

Until now.

Last week, you barely listened as he ate “breakfast” and told you about some virus thing that you only remembered because someone at work mentioned it too. A few days ago, you were a bit more thorough about checking what stuff you had on hand before you went grocery shopping. 

Yesterday, you were both sitting on the same couch for maybe the third time in your acquaintanceship and watching the news.

‘What does that mean for your work?’ you asked.

‘Fucked if I know,’ he said. ‘The day my boss tells me anything without me luring it from her mouth like her tongue is the ugliest snake in a face-basket and I’m the most underpaid charmer in Texas is the day I slap down my cowboy hat in disgust because her recalcitrant tongue-snake was the whole basis of my employment.’

‘What,’ you said.

‘She’s not chatty,’ Dave amended. ‘What about you?’

‘If they close schools, that’s how we’ll know everything’s gone to shit,’ you said with confidence.

Today they closed the schools.

You stayed in bed until 10 in protest. The world has gone crazy and you will _not_ be dragged down with it. 

‘Yo Karkat,’ Dave says as you shuffle towards the coffee maker. He holds his mug out and you take it. ‘Please,’ he says, almost sounding embarrassed at his own politeness. 

You do the coffee nonsense and out of lack of anything else to do, join him on the couch. It feels strange. Despite rarely interacting with Dave directly, moving around each other has meant that you’re actually fine with sitting close to him or talking to him, in the same kind of way that you consider the librarian at school a friend even though you only have a water-cooler relationship with her. It’s just weird for both you and Dave to be around at the same time. 

‘Guess I can shift back to daylight hours,’ he says. ‘Use the time off to get a tan, or more likely spend three minutes outdoors and come back in with a sunburn that requires the soothing, homoerotic touch of my roommate.’

‘How about everyone stays inside,’ you say dryly.

‘How come you never want to have sexually charged moments with me?’

You ignore him. He’s just like that. He hit on you continuously as you interviewed him about the houseshare thing, but when you called him on it and asked if he’d rather date you, he backed way off and said it was a nervous habit. It’s also a bored habit and a “can’t think of anything else to say” habit. 

‘This is so fucking weird,’ you say as you read the subtitles on the TV. You’re both in the habit of using subtitles or headphones or whatever so that you don’t wake each other up, and Dave hasn’t thought to turn the volume on. ‘What do we even do?’

_’I_ am going to download a bunch of games and grow a quarantine beard,’ Dave says. ‘You should probably check to see if the school wants you to do online bullshit. I don’t think this is going to be a short-term thing.’

You groan. He’s completely right. You hate using the online portal, you make all your students print out their essays and you are completely unapologetic about that. You used to want to be a programmer and when you split with that idea, it got all the computer tolerance in the divorce.

Working from home is weird. You set yourself up on your laptop at the kitchen table and attack your keyboard as you deal with emails from students and your boss and _ugh_ your dad has sent you a million clickbait news articles so now you have to make sure he has the right information.

Dave sprawls on the couch and plays video games. At one point, his phone rings and he leaves for his bedroom to answer it. You hear the sound (but not words) of his voice as he talks and his footsteps as he paces. You hadn’t really heard him laugh before.

‘That was my buddy, John,’ he says as he comes back into the room. You give him a look, challenging him to find some reason for you to care. ‘I might need a favour from you in the next couple days on that front.’

He puts the coffeepot on as he talks, so you decide that he’s actually a pretty good roommate and you can swing a favour if it’s something you don’t mind doing. 

‘See, he thought it was weird that I know nothing about the guy I live with, so I told him we weren’t that kind of friend, and he felt a lot better about me saying that you were my friend so I kind of didn’t correct him? And now he’s all on my ass about how I have to stay sane in the isolation, as if my fuckin’ job didn’t isolate me enough anyhow, and if I don’t convince him that I’m fine then he’s gonna call me twice a day. Which, you know, whatever, I could do worse. But we’re gonna run out of shit to say to each other and I don’t want our friendship to get all stale and obligation based, that sounds depressing as shit, you know?’

You make an assenting noise.

‘So if you could just pretend that we’re friends when he calls, nothing big, just be all “hi John” like greeting my friends is a normal thing for people of our relationship level to do?’

‘Sure,’ you say. ‘Now give me the coffee you’re holding hostage before I decide to drink your stomach acid after I’ve eviscerated you for keeping me from my caffeine instead.’

Dave ignores the way you speak too. You have a good thing going here.

*

On day three of isolation you find yourself staring as Dave exercises on the small balcony. You had no idea he did that, but there he goes, doing push-ups, sit-ups, other exercises you don’t know the name of … 

He looks ambiguously normal sized when he’s just chilling in a hoodie, and you’ve rarely seen him in anything else given that it’s usually cold enough in the middle of the night to put one over his work uniform when he leaves. But in the loose singlet and shorts he’s wearing as he does pull-ups on a bar you didn’t even know you had, he looks kind of fucking hot. 

You genuinely haven’t looked at him that way before. You haven’t really looked at him any kind of way before. He was dork-shaped from the second he walked into the place, ducking his head and waving to you as he introduced himself instead of shaking your hand like an adult. And you were tired, he was your fourth interview in a row and you fucking hated every single person who you’d interviewed before him, all of them proving exactly why they weren’t rooming with a college buddy or girlfriend because _clearly_ only a stranger would tolerate them. You were sold when he said “night shift security shit, you probably won’t even know I’m here”.

You drag your gaze back to your laptop when he turns to face vaguely your direction as he lifts weights, and do your best not to imagine him looking at you. You thank the stars you don’t blush as easy as a human and try to concentrate. It’s not easy. 

You open a blank document and type out your internal monologue, beating yourself up for how hard it is for you to not think about Dave’s various attractive features so that if he _is_ looking at you, all he’ll see is you typing. And it’s about halfway down the page that you realise what the problem is.

Your roommate is out of the house almost every night before you go to sleep and fast asleep when you get home from work. You haven’t masturbated in nearly a week, and you’ve never had reason not to before you go to bed. You don’t know if you have it in you to be quiet, and even if you manage to rein in your voice down to every involuntary chirr, the sound of material hitting pail isn’t exactly silent. You’d do it in the shower, like you sometimes do after a stressful work day, but you can’t exactly lock yourself in there for an hour while you scrub it free of red stains afterwards. 

Now you’re thinking about it, every single one of your joints is seized in place with tension, you’ve had a headache all day and you bit your pencil in half earlier when you meant to just hold it between your teeth while marking an essay. You thought you were just stressed. You’re sure that’s not helping, but now you’re thinking you’re actually sexually frustrated as shit.

Like an idiot, you actually look out the window again. Dave is lunging, facing away from you and his shorts drawn tight around his perky little ass and _fucking hell you need to stop._ You don’t, though, you let your gaze wander over the lines of his leg muscles, defined by exertion; up his back where his posture is fucking perfect; to where his hair is slightly darker at the nape of his neck, damp with sweat. You could probably see the sweat on his arms if you were closer. You imagine licking up his neck as your bulge …

You wrench your head away and stand up. Your sheath is aching, a cool breeze could send your bulge tumbling out at this point, and your nook feels so wet. You cross to the kitchen, lifting your knees up as high as you can as you walk to encourage blood to flow _somewhere else_ and get yourself a drink of water. Then a second. You’d take a shower, but it’d be a dick move to get in when you know Dave’s going to want it after he’s finished. Instead you flick cold water on your face and go to your room to change your fucking underwear.

*

On day six of isolation, Dave gives you a pointed look when John facetimes him and after a couple of minutes you go over to where he’s sitting on the couch, jostle him as you sit down and say hi. Dave smiles at you with endearing wonder. 

‘Hi Karkat!’ John says. ‘It’s nice to finally meet you. I am John.’

‘Dude, he knows. He just greeted you by name.’

Dave’s arm is warm against yours and he smells _so_ nice. You still haven’t jacked off, and you are so not equipped to handle this. 

‘I’m not actually here to interrupt your conversation with your other boyfriend,’ you say, confident that you can’t be the only one Dave flirts with constantly and sure this joke will land. ‘I’m going to the store.’ You make a grabby hand in the air.

Dave looks at you, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling too much and giving himself away, then leans into you more as he digs his wallet out of his pocket. He puts a twenty in your hand.

‘You’re only with me for my money,’ he accuses.

‘Yup,’ you say. ‘Bye, John.’

You flee before you talk yourself into staying.

*

There are crosses on the floor of the supermarket to keep everyone six feet apart, and the shelves look like something out of a zombie apocalypse movie, everything tinned and tissue-adjacent ransacked. You buy some fruit you hope you’ll guilt yourself into eating and some popsicles that you’ve seen in the freezer before, neither of which are in danger of running out. 

With frozen shit in your bag, you can’t exactly avoid the apartment forever. You’re not really supposed to be leaving the house unless you need to, and you doubt “sexual tension” is a good enough reason. Not that there’s even sexual tension, it’s all _you._ You projecting attraction onto the closest possible object because you’re frustrated and horny. 

Dave is still talking to John when you get back, so after you put away your groceries you get yourself in frame of his camera and wave before hiding in your room. Your teeth feel permanently gritted. You’re snappy in your emails and getting headaches. You feel like the most pathetic creature in the universe, but if you don’t masturbate literally the next second you feel it’s safe, you might actually hang yourself from Dave’s pull-up bar. Obviously being heard is less of a big deal than actual suicide that you totally will go through with if you don’t get off. 

You’re lying to yourself, but you also can’t keep this up forever. And apparently you’re going to be stuck in this house for the rest of your life, so you might as well get it over with.


	2. Dave: Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's handling the quarantine mildly better than Karkat, but that might be about to change.

You watch Karkat stomp off to his bedroom with amusement. Even when he’s faking being friendly he’s a grump. You’d noticed it before you saw him all the fucking time, but it’s a lot more obvious now. Part of that is probably sheer exposure, it’s a lot easier to be nice when you see someone like 10 minutes a day, but you think it’s also the stress. Everyone’s pretty on edge. Hard not to be when every fucking conversation comes back to this damn virus.

‘You know you could get groceries and stuff delivered,’ John says, pulling your attention back to your conversation. ‘That way you wouldn’t have to leave the house.’

‘Yeah, man, good idea,’ you say. Your brain is really struggling to get off Karkat. Not _get off_ Karkat, haha. God your crush was easier to manage when you barely saw him. ‘You know you don’t have to micromanage my quarantine, right?’

‘I care about you,’ John frowns. ‘And you’re nearly 30 and somehow barely an adult.’

‘Woah,’ you say. ‘Woah, dude, no. 27 is not nearly 30. No.’

‘It just looks old from where I’m sitting,’ he shrugs, his face impressively serious. There’s no one who can keep a straight face like John fucking Egbert.

‘You’re going to regret saying that in a month.’

‘Didn’t you hear? Birthdays are cancelled.’

*

When you finally get off the phone with John and have caught up on the weird tangent Jade and Rose took the group chat off on, you settle down to play the _shit_ out of some Animal Crossing. Karkat comes back out as you’re taking up the whole couch, lying on your back with your Switch above your head. You congratulate yourself on not dropping it on your face, and move your ass to a more upright position in case he wants to sit with you. You’re pathetic.

He does, though. He turns on the TV and starts flicking through channels, thumb stabbing the remote with enough violence that you worry he’s gonna puncture the squishy buttons. 

‘God, is everything about this fucking virus?’ he asks, giving up and flopping backwards into the couch. 

‘Pretty much,’ you say. ‘Not Animal Crossing. This baby would never distress me like that.’

He snorts. You watch the news in between making some very wise virtual decorating decisions. The sound’s actually on for once and you can’t tune out sound for shit, which is the biggest reason you’re glad to have a roommate you barely see. 

‘—and the city of New York has released a rather controversial, if practical PSA,’ the reporter is saying. ‘Among encouraging people to minimise sexual contact outside of the house and to be sure to use condoms, the city is advising people to refrain from engaging in rimming—’

‘The fuck’s rimming?’ you ask, the broadcast claiming your attention over your Switch for the simple reason that it said “sexual” and no way is that happening in your happy little village.

‘You’re not serious,’ Karkat says.

‘Not a troll,’ you remind him, assuming that if he’s that confident it should be known that it’s on _his_ spectrum of normal.

‘It’s not a troll thing!’ he says. ‘I mean, some trolls do it? It seems to be pretty much the domain of the gays, though.’

You hit pause. The news is continuing and it’s driving you vaguely crazy trying to listen to his voice and their voices, so you take the remote from his knee and press mute.

‘Go on,’ you say.

He screws up his face, which is pretty cute. Apparently he can call you and half the furniture in here all the creative insults in the world but he can’t describe sex acts.

‘Ass-eating,’ he says reluctantly. ‘You seriously haven’t heard of it?’

‘When your brother’s a porn-star you kinda avoid anything but your imagination,’ you say. ‘Okay, so walk me through this. It’s like eating out a pussy but it’s the butt?’

Karkat groans and covers his face. Embarrassed is a very cute look on him.

‘I guess?’ he says.

‘And that feels good?’

‘Yes, Dave, it fucking feels good, that’s why people do it.’

‘Have you done it?’

_‘You poopflinging, nookhumping mothergrubfucker,’_ he mutters under his breath. ‘Yes, okay? Apart from anything else, it makes anal better. My ex … You know what? You don’t need to know shit, you have the Internet and I’m not your guide to this shit.’

His cheeks are actually faintly red as he gets up, which isn’t something you’ve seen on him before. You didn’t even know where he was on the hemospectrum; you didn’t take him up on the offer to give you background check shit on him. He doesn’t dress in red or any other colour as his personal motif. 

‘Karkat, wait,’ you say, grabbing his wrist before he can walk away too far. He looks down at you, still flushed. ‘Are you gonna let the city of New York tell you where you can put your tongue like some kind of wiggler?’

He blushes even more and wrenches his hand from you, which you let go of without fuss. You’re fucking with him, obviously. Unless he’s into it.

‘You’re cooking tonight,’ he tells you viciously. 

You’re okay with that.

*

You’ve been having dinner and sometimes other meals together. It doesn’t make sense for you to cook separately when you’ve both got to eat. You’ve always had troll friends, so you’re not opposed to putting beetles in your tacos or grubsauce on your hotdogs. Karkat was surprised when you first moved in that you automatically went for fusion foods and so were happy to cover half the grocery costs no matter what he got. You’re pretty sure he’s tried to test you on it, but you haven’t met a food you can’t eat yet.

You’re learning more about what Karkat likes from eating together the last week. He’s a baby about spicy shit, so you’ve dialed that back and have your sriracha sauce to drip into your own serving if you want it. He also prefers the skin to be left on potatoes and carrots, because the fibre’s good for his horns or something. Tonight you’re going to make dessert as well and find out if that’s a thing he likes. 

You have your phone in your back pocket and your headphones in so that you can talk to Jade as you cook. Her timezone and narcolepsy make her a difficult gal to get a hold of, and it’s nice to have company.

‘What are you talking about, how can life have changed for you at all?’ you ask. ‘There’s no one on that fuckin’ island to get it from, as if you’re stuck inside.’

_’I’m_ not stuck,’ she says, ‘my research partners are! Experimental physics is not considered an essential job, and it’s _experimental_ so they can’t exactly forgo the equipment. It’s nice to have some extra time in the garden, but it’s eerily quiet.’

‘Have you talked to John?’

‘Only twice a day! I’ll call him after this, then Rose. She stays up late, so even if we talk forever it’ll be okay.’

You tip your chopped vegetables into the soup and tell yourself firmly that you can’t swim to Jade’s island. 

‘What wacky upgrades have you made to your garden, then?’

She tells you about the sprinkler system she’s installed and the trees she’s splicing and demands that you make some time to jam with her soon because her plants like your mixes the best. You only ask her to marry you twice. You have to say goodbye when you finish cooking, with many, “no you hang up!”s. You’re the one to give in when Karkat walks into the room and you feel stupid for putting on the voice.

‘Alright, fuck off Harley,’ you say.

‘No, you hang up!’ she says.

You hang up. 

‘Hey,’ you say to Karkat. ‘Dinner’s ready, I was about to come get you.’

‘Yeah, I heard you tell your girlfriend,’ he says. 

‘Jade’s not my girlfriend,’ you laugh. ‘I propose to all my friends. Even my sister. _Especially_ my sister, she proofreads my emails. I don’t know why I’m like this.’

Karkat takes the bowl of soup you offer him and you double check your pudding is okay in the oven before you join him at the table.

‘Sorry, didn’t realise I was being loud,’ you say.

‘I don’t think you even were,’ he sighs. ‘I’m just used to this place being silent.’

‘Yeah,’ you agree awkwardly. 

It’s kind of impossible to forget that you have a roommate right now. It’s made you self conscious about doing pretty much everything you normally do, from working out to watching TV, even sleeping. You have no idea if you snore or something, and Karkat’s room is right next to yours. You can hear when he turns over in bed. It makes you want to be as quiet as possible, long before you fall asleep.

‘You’ll tell me if I can do anything to make this easier, right?’ you say. ‘Like I know I can’t offer to give you space or whatever, but if you need me to shut up or …’ You don’t even know what you’re saying. You’re already giving each other as much space as you can. ‘I could go back on night shift mode or something,’ you offer weakly.

‘No, fuck that, it’s probably bad for your health,’ he says. ‘I might have been hatched on Earth, but if it came to that I’m sure I should be the one going nocturnal. Not that it’s come to that!’

‘Just thought I’d say.’

He opens his mouth as if to say something else, closes it again and then takes a mouthful of soup. You give him your best judgemental eyebrow and he stubbornly has more soup before he actually says what he wants to say.

‘Look, we don’t really know each other,’ he says. ‘And it’s fine if you don’t want to, but no one’s fucking doing anything, all my conversations with friends are about movies and I never thought I’d be sick of talking about movies but I am. We could have a lot to talk about, we haven’t heard each other’s stories.’

‘Oh.’

‘I know that the appeal of our whole setup is that we don’t have to interact, but maybe we should be interacting. Whatever, it’s dumb.’

‘No, I get you,’ you say. ‘Wanna just try over dinner and if it turns out it doesn’t work for us we can just not do it again.’

He nods. You nod. Neither of you talks. 

‘So, did you grow up around here?’ you ask.

*

It was a super reasonable suggestion, and you definitely enjoyed it at the time. You were even glad when the fact that you’d made chocolate pudding meant that the conversation dragged out longer, and you sat at the table chatting for over two and a half hours in the end.

Now, however, as you lie on your back and reflect, you think it probably wasn’t the best idea. You already have a crush based on bare impressions, and tonight kind of felt like a really good first date, the rare kind where you start strong, connect all through and leave without any major embarrassment. You don’t want to have to find a new place because you’ve done something stupid, and you’re _really good_ at doing stupid shit. And this isn’t going to last forever, probably just another week. Best case scenario, you go back to seeing him only 10 minutes a day. Best case. 

You know you should back off so you don’t get attached. That’s probably a difficult thing to do, considering how well tonight went.

You know what, you’re both adults. You’ll just tell him that you’ve got a minor crush on him and you need a bit of space to get that under control so that you don’t make things weird. Shit like this happens. You’re only setting yourself up for a comical misunderstanding if you try and hide it. 

You pull your headphones out, careful not to brush your sheets. You heard Karkat get into bed a little while ago, and you’re still not sure why you’re pretending that you’re a completely silent sleeper, but you are. You think you’re tired enough that you’ll be able to fall asleep, especially as Karkat stopped making noise a while back so you can relax about moving yourself, probably. But then you hear the rustle of sheets and you glare at the ceiling, wondering why you’re such an idiot about this. 

You hear him get to his feet and move quietly around his room. The walls aren’t so thin that you can hear him like there’s nothing between you, in fact the reason you think you _can_ hear so much is because your beds happen to share the same wall, but it’s also dead silent apart from his careful footsteps and the crinkle of something plasticky. 

The mattress groans as he gets back into bed, and there’s that plastic sound again. You frown, trying to place it. And then you hear something _wet._

At first it’s an almost imperceptible slick sound, something you’re only hearing because you were straining to understand the plastic, but then it’s joined by something with the edge of _suction_ and you know all at once what’s happening. 

No, you don’t. You’re horny and jumping to conclusions, probably. You don’t know that Karkat is on the other side of this wall fingering himself. It could be anything. A lot of Alternian tech sounds weird, it seriously might not be—

He moans. 

It’s not loud, but the only way you could possibly be trying to listen more would be if you were pressing a glass to the wall. The rhythmic sound speeds up and he chirrs deep in his throat and _nngh_ he sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard and you can’t even hear him that well. 

You’re hard, really hard, and you want to touch yourself so badly. More than that, you want to interrupt him and tell him that your dicks should be best fuckin’ buddies, right now. That would literally only work in a porno, so instead you fight with your brain about just _waiting a goddamn minute,_ but the horny side of you wins because it points out that he’s distracted right now and unless you go have a night shower, that makes it the safest time you’re gonna get. 

You shove your hand in your pants and angle your head even closer to the wall. You start stroking yourself as you hear the sounds get even messier, wet skin against skin, a quiet slap as if his bulge got free of his hand and hit his stomach, tiny desperate whimpers that you can’t believe are coming from _Karkat_ of all people. You speed up, imagining that it’s your hips slamming into him that you can hear, biting your knuckle harshly to keep yourself from moaning. 

You’re almost being too rough with yourself, but so is he, he’s just really going at it and you really wish you could answer those noises he can’t seem to help but make. You’re so close it’s frustrating, you want to growl at yourself to just come already, while he’s still occupied. 

And then you hear the crinkle of plastic again, then a thump that’s almost _loud_ before liquid hitting plastic at volume. Oh god, this is why you haven’t heard this before, there’s no way you couldn’t hear the sound of a pail being half-filled, and you can imagine him now, kneeling over it as he squeezes every drop from his bulge, maybe some of his material splashing onto his thigh, bright red on grey and _fuck_ you’re tensing all over, hips jerking your cock through your tight fist as you come. 

You suck air into your lungs, because you were holding your breath with the effort it took to keep silent and you try and continue that silence as you catch your breath. Karkat’s still dripping, but it’s slowed considerably. 

Well shit. You totally just jerked it to the sound of your roommate jerking it. You hope this doesn’t have any consequences.


	3. Karkat: Give in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat struggles against his unbearable horniness until he finally gives into his need to masturbate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're backtracking a little bit so we get Karkat's point of view on some of this stuff, for sexy reasons.

After walking away from Dave as he talks to John, you realise you can’t hide out in your room. Your room is private, it has a door you close, and your bulge thinks you can let it out. You cannot let your bulge win. You tell it to cool it, just for another half a day. You can make it through half a day. 

You realise that you can’t, not if you’re alone in your room, when half an hour of sitting very still with your thighs tense results in you almost getting off on the physical sensation of your underwear touching your sheath, your nook. You’re hyper aware of it, trying not to rock back and forth on your desk chair, and you _cannot be alone right now._

So you go back into the living room and sit next to Dave, stupid as that might be, and eventually give up on finding something not-Covid-y to watch. The news is fine, seeing as there’s literally nothing else right now apparently. Until they start talking about safe sex, and Dave asks you with zero shame what rimming is.

‘You’re not serious,’ you say. 

‘Not a troll,’ he says, eyes still on his game. 

‘It’s not a troll thing!’ you say defensively. In fact, it’s pretty fucking human! Trolls kind of have enough going on that, well? It just doesn’t really have to happen, okay? It’s overkill! ‘I mean, some trolls do it? It seems to be pretty much the domain of the gays, though.’

Dave puts his Switch down and mutes the TV. He gives you absolutely all of his attention. 

‘Go on.’

You can’t deal with this. You can’t. You are _so horny_ and he’s right there all being hot and you want to tear your hair out. How do you even describe the soft, teasing intensity of a rimjob? The way it eases your ass open until you’re both relaxed and desperate ...

Oh wait, you don’t need to say that. Use a fucking synonym, Karkat.

‘Ass-eating,’ you say. Jesus this is embarrassing. ‘You seriously haven’t heard of it?’

‘When your brother’s a porn-star you kinda avoid anything but your imagination. Okay, so walk me through this. It’s like eating out a pussy but it’s the butt?’

Nope. No. Argh. You cover your face, which feels uncomfortably warm. _Walk him through it._ Yeah, you wish. You’d love to get downright _educational_ about this. You’d have him on his hands and knees just so you could see when he stops being able to support his weight.

‘I guess?’ you say, feeling like it’s not remotely covering it. You’ve had your nook and your ass eaten out and they’re _different,_ but you’re not fucking saying that.

‘And that feels good?’

‘Yes, Dave, it fucking feels good, that’s why people do it.’

‘Have you done it?’

 _‘You poopflinging, nookhumping mothergrubfucker,’_ you swear. Why is he so _curious??_ Why do you feel obliged to answer him? He’s probably fucking with you, he knows what it is but he wants you to suffer. You still answer, like an idiot. ‘Yes, okay? Apart from anything else, it makes anal better. My ex … You know what? You don’t need to know shit, you have the Internet and I’m not your guide to this shit.’

You get up, done with all of this. You’re not talking about Sollux or the things you’d let him do with his bulges … okay, the things you begged him to do with his bulges. Sweet holy _asscactus_ you are horny. You need to leave before a _completely innocent if uncomfortable_ conversation has you staining your jeans red.

‘Karkat, wait,’ he says, grabbing your wrist as you try and walk away. You look down at him, expecting an apology. ‘Are you gonna let the city of New York tell you where you can put your tongue like some kind of wiggler?’

In your mind, you push him into the couch and fuck him with your tongue until he screams. In reality, you shake him off, feeling turned on, embarrassed and like you’ve never been further away from coming up with a snappy comeback.

‘You’re cooking tonight,’ you spit, storming out.

You go to the bathroom and press a cold washcloth to your sheath. The tip of your bulge is protruding. You bite your cheek and clean the pre from your nook and everywhere else, refreshing the too-cold water in between carefully unerotic wipes. You take a shaky breath when you manage to get your bulge to retract, even if you’re still uncomfortably turned on. 

*

You hide in your room, even though the temptation of your pail is _right there,_ and you previously thought this was a terrible idea. You watch a documentary, then answer emails, forcing yourself to do safe activities. You hear Dave talking on the phone and try to tune him out. Thankfully, nice as his voice is, he’s not actively being sexy, so you only really notice when he starts telling his conversational partner that he needs to go because dinner is ready. 

Dinner is fine. Good, even. It turns out the girl _wasn’t_ his girlfriend, which removes the thin veneer of _don’t fantasise about a guy with a girlfriend_ that wasn’t even effective in the first place. He’s considerate, and it makes you want to not be an asshole. 

More than that, you realise as you’re talking to him like a person, you’re better distracted from your whole situation than you have been all day. He’s still flirty. You’re still an asshole. He’s actually kind of an asshole too. You wouldn’t hate talking to him more, even after you both go back to normal life. 

That good mood and distraction actually lasts a whole hour after you’ve both gone to your separate rooms. It’s only when you stop messing around on the Internet and look towards your bed that you remember all the tension from earlier. 

You get under the covers with your laptop and listen carefully. The fact that you share a wall with Dave is probably a disadvantage for this endeavour in general, but he could probably hear you no matter where you were in your room so you’re probably better off sussing out whether he’s asleep or not. 

You force yourself to keep watching videos of people creating things you couldn’t even attempt even if you had the time and resources and argue with yourself about whether you need a sewing machine or not (you do not). After you haven’t heard Dave moving for a while, you chance getting out of your bed. You don’t hear him move in response, and that’s good enough for you.

You grab your pail and plasticky sheet that is soft enough to lie on comfortably without feeling too much like a tarp, while still being absolutely liquid proof. You lay it on your bed and kick the covers down so you don’t make a mess. You look at it longingly for way too long before getting undressed and lying down. 

You can’t wait, your bulge is already protruding without you even doing anything. You drag your fingers around the shape of your nook and up over the sensitive tip. You’re _so_ wet. At the barest touch of your hand, your bulge tumbles out of your sheath with a slick noise that sounds loud in the silent room. 

You want your thoughts to be empty as you palm your bulge, but you can’t seem to manage it. Your mind drifts to Dave, imagining his hand around you instead, the body you’ve recently discovered is all tight muscles held over you as he looks down at you.

It's not your fault. You're trapped in an apartment with only one source of companionship. And he's a very attractive, very flirty source of companionship that you don't think you can stop yourself from thinking about.

The Dave in your imagination has that look of restrained amusement and pleasure you caught on him a couple of times over dinner as he sees what a mess you are. Your bulge is dripping onto your stomach, but he knows what you really want. You move your fingers between your legs and _oh god_ you needed this, you really fucking needed this. 

You’re too horny to go slow, the tension that has been simmering for-fucking-ever demands to be released, and your fantasy of Dave wants to know just how much you want it, and how quick he can get you there. He’s turned on by the fact that you’re a mess, he wants to push you further, he drives his fingers into you again and again because he’s gonna be the one who makes you come.

You honestly try not to make a sound, but a tiny moan escapes you at the really strong mental image you’ve conjured up here. 

You would love a toy right now, but you aren’t stopping for anything, not even a brief rifle through your bedside table drawer, so instead you give yourself a third finger and lift your hips slightly. Your mental Dave is fucking you now, it’s his useless left hand your bulge is clinging to and he’s taking you harder and faster. You’re pretty sure the chirr you make is involuntary, but honestly you can’t give a single fuck when your nook is taking the downright brutal fingerfucking you’re giving it and begging for more.

You manage to get your left hand moving so long as it’s at an almost mirror of your right, fucking bullshit coordination issues, and the extra stimulation to your bulge makes you whimper. It escapes your clumsy hold and you swap hands in desperation, shoving all four of your left fingers into your nook and jerking your bulge as if your life depends on it. Your hips are rocking, your hand is slapping against your skin and you realise about three seconds in advance that you’re about to come and you can’t just _do_ that. 

You shove your bucket in place and roll off the bed to drop to your knees over it. The cold metal rim hits your sensitive thighs in a way that makes your toes curl with hundreds of sexual associations and you come immediately, the shiver from the cold turning into a jolt up your spine as you spill and spill. 

You lean into the sheet you put down, literally red handed and needing the support as your body shakes through the most intense drop you’ve had in forever. You pant as you start to recover, slurry still dripping from your over-sensitive nook. You feel every drop as it travels down your folds, a shivery path that feels like the gentlest fingers exploring just how well fucked you are.

You could go for round two, you realise with horror. You want to imagine Dave holding you down and fucking you after you’ve nearly filled a pail all on your own, just to prove you’ve still got more in you. Another drop makes the agonisingly slow journey along your nook and you close your eyes.

No. You’re good. This is good. You were dying of arousal and this has very effectively taken the edge off. You run your fingers along your nook and sheath experimentally and shudder violently at the sensitivity. Yeah, you’re good. You just got caught up in your fantasy.

You clean up enough with tissues to stop the dripping and put on pants you were going to wash anyway to make the furtive trip across to the bathroom, pail full of incriminating slurry held close to your chest. 

Your heart is still beating too fast when you get your much cleaner self into your bed. As it starts to calm, you feel an _intense_ relief, so overwhelming that your thoroughly fucked sleep schedule seems to have been, well, _fucked_ into submission. Okay, so not literally. Close enough. You smile sleepily at your terrible joke and then almost laugh aloud at yourself for being so blissed out that you found that funny. It’s easy to fall asleep.

The next morning you make every effort to be as much of a cantankerous bastard as you usually are, but you find yourself smiling into your coffee and looking peacefully at the brightening Houston cityscape through your window. Dave keeps shooting you strange looks whenever you’re in the same room together, reminding you to put a scowl on much too late.

You probably should feel awkward about the fact that it was him at the centre of your fantasies. You do, a bit. You definitely felt your cheeks get hot enough for a blush to show when you first saw him, but he didn’t look over at where you’d set your laptop up on the table to escape your room on his way to the kitchen, so you didn’t have to be _more_ embarrassed about him noticing your embarrassment.

It’s not like you’ve never dreamt about or gotten off on the thought of someone you know. You’re a goddamn adult and you’ve definitely fantasised about weirder shit than your attractive roommate fucking you missionary style. If this had’ve happened a few weeks ago, there would be literally no problem with it, you barely saw the guy.

So you don’t feel awkward, is the point.

Okay, you feel a _little_ awkward. It’s fine, Dave seems to be sticking more to his room than usual anyway today.

And now that your head is actually functional again (you cannot _believe_ the difference this has made), you realise that you totally could have told Dave to fuck off for an hour to give you some time to yourself. Apparently he can prance around on the balcony with weights for 45 minutes a day, surely he can go for a long walk so that you don’t have to deal with the stress of all that again. There’s definitely something in the bro code about this.

*

You made it ten days last time. Not that you were counting, except obviously you were, it was torture. The last four days since you gave into your needy body, you’ve practically been in a good mood. Except that Dave has suddenly decided to torture you.

There was a bit of awkwardness after your mood suddenly drastically shifted gears and you were trying to stop your stupid brain from seeing him as some fantasy boy who is going to fuck you into next week. Now there’s a different kind of tension because there’s _not_ that protective layer of awkwardness keeping you both at an appropriate distance.

You think he caught you staring or something, not that you _were_ staring, but you know, hypothetically, you might have put your ganderbulbs in the vicinity of his general business. Who are you kidding, you’ve been burning holes in his jeans every time he turns away from you for days. It’s possible he noticed. It’s also possible he’s just like this and it’s taken the couple weeks of enforced bonding to get him to reveal the full extent of his insanity.

At present, you can’t get past him to get at the precious coffee because he’s brag-rapping to the toaster as he waits for it to finish doing it’s thing.

‘Strider’s ass so sweet, every fucker’s always lookin’ on the street, your defenses, they obsolete, and the whole world dancing to the beat, take a seat, you can’t compete, I’ve got this rhyme on a preheat, no deceit, gonna defeat …’

 _’Dave,’_ you say. ‘Get out of the fucking way and stop rapping.’

Dave turns to face you and slouches, spreading himself thoroughly in front of the coffee maker. 

‘Karkat’s lookin’ kinda a- _ffected,’_ he starts and you pinch your eyes closed with a sigh. ‘Like DJ Strider’s not elected, to vaccinate, yeah he’s infected—not with Covid, that’s not _connected—_ but with the dokis for a sweet bod that’s perfected, Kat’s feeling neglected, wishin’ Strider’d get him _erected—_ ’

‘Okay, I’m leaving.’

‘Karkat wait, no, you can have a coffee,’ Dave says, stepping out of the way.

You eye him suspiciously as you fill a cup and reach for the sugar. 

‘But for real, I don’t think it’s Corona in my lungs, you just leave me breathless.’

You stop yourself from flinging scalding coffee in his face by the barest degree. He grins at you cockily, secure in the knowledge that you’re not going to give him second-degree burns. 

‘We are currently in quarantine,’ you remind him, voice a lot quieter than it usually is. ‘Which means that I could lovingly fist your throat, drag your oesophagus out of your gaping word-sphincter, and use it to give you the enema you so clearly need, as you are so _fucking_ full of shit that it’s becoming a bigger public health hazard than the one we’re currently living through.’

Dave makes a nervous laughing noise. You glare at him for a second longer before escaping to your room. 

‘Still kinda horny,’ he calls after you.

You hate him. Except that you really don’t, because the way he gets under your skin only leaves you smiling in the privacy of your room and you don’t want to fight him for this, you want that arrogant son of a bitch to meet you half way and make you laugh and infuriate you and, most of all, ride your bulge into next week.


	4. Dave: Just fucking ask for it already

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out for all those new tags, they do A Lot.

The morning after you played your spunk trumpet in concert to Karkat on the other side of the wall, you can’t look at him for more than like half a second. You zip past him whenever you venture out into the shared spaces, and yet you can’t seem to _properly_ hide away. You just have to push it a little, just to peek at the face that went along with those noises. 

He looks happy, which is fucking weird. Not that he shouldn’t, it sure sounded like he had a good time last night, but you’ve never seen him looking so relaxed. You still hear him swearing impressively at his laptop, so it’s not like every display of antagonism you’ve ever seen from the dude was because he was sexually frustrated, but evidently he _really_ needed that. And thinking about how good it apparently was for him only leads to remembering the little desperate noises he made and so stealing glances at him inevitably leads to you needing to escape for more boner-friendly terrain.

That first day you very effectively reinforce your memory of the previous night through close study as you fuck your hand three different times. After that it’s a lot easier to stay away and take a breather, and then easier the next day to just act like a normal human being around him. Well, as close as you get anyway.

The second day, you think you catch him staring at you as you do pullups outside. And then again later when you’re leaning over the table to answer a text while you wait for the microwave, because you have no posture and a tendency to drape yourself over anything that’s available when you’re bored. You don’t _see_ him check you out, but he lingers behind you in a way that you can’t dismiss as nothing. And later, when you intentionally drop the spoon you’re drumming against the counter, you definitely feel his eyes on you as you bend neatly from the hips, showing off your mad flexibility.

You think you’re in with a chance. So you start to sound him out, getting just a bit closer than necessary whenever you have an excuse, letting him catch you staring too, flirting whenever there’s the slightest opening. He starts to get pissy with you, but he doesn’t stop staring. In fact, he threatens you with a pretty extreme death after some _harmless_ flirt-rapping, which you take to be a very good sign. Something about that’s messed up, but you don’t particularly care. 

You know that it’s probably stupid to try and get your roommate into bed, especially right now when you can’t escape each other. But on the other hand, sex. 

What you’re really curious about is the rimming thing he talked about. You can’t risk watching porn, never do, but you find some erotic fiction about it that makes it sound fucking amazing and some AMA’s on Reddit confirm it. Blow jobs are awesome, ass-play is awesome, you’re pretty sold on this. … Once you’ve cleaned house.

Not that you expect Karkat to actually jump into bed with you, much less eat you out. But that’s the best case scenario and you’re not sabotaging your best case scenario because you doubted it so much you didn’t prepare. Worst case scenario, you have a clean ass for no reason.

You knock on Karkat’s door and tell him you’re gonna have a bath so you can have the space to yourself for a bit. And then you decide that hell yes you’re going to have a bath, that sounds rad. You lock the door just in case, even though the thought of him walking in on you all vulnerable is honestly hot as hell.

Look, some people aren’t into it, you know that. Some people are neutral about it. You’re one of the lucky ones who kinda gets off on enemas. And by kinda, you’re being coy. Just mixing the water solution makes you feel horny. You set the bath running as you prepare the bag, and how the hell have you never thought of having a bath afterwards before? You’re gonna be delicious and relaxed out of this _world._

You undress and lie down with your kit on one of the towels you brought in. You lie on your side and lube up your finger, teasing your rim as you get it nice and slick, much more than you need to. You disregard your erection as you keep playing with your ass, lingering over the sensitive muscle until you’re too impatient to keep going. Then you lube up the nozzle and gently guide it inside you. 

You pull your knees up to your chest as you open the clamp and release the first spurt of water, then close it again. It’s warm. It doesn’t feel like come, there’s too much and there’s no dick in you, just a nozzle the size of a longer-than-most finger, but that doesn’t take away from it at all. You drag out the sensation of being filled for as long as you can.

Maybe it’s that you had very unrealistic ideas growing up of the aliens who have been cohabitating on Earth so long it’s probably wrong to call them aliens now. Like, the kind of ideas that involved experimentation on a mothership, probes and all. Even knowing _why_ you’re doing this pings some of those buttons; there’s something vaguely clinical about being made so thoroughly clean. It doesn’t hurt that said aliens literally come buckets, though you’ve never had a partner okay with testing the limits of your very willing ass on that front. 

You feed the last of the water into you in one long stream, imagining that the warm water tingling against your insides is Karkat’s alien jizz and stifling a groan with your hand. You pull the nozzle out slowly, even though you would _love_ to fuck your ass with it at this stage. You know better than to do that, and you can’t finger yourself either. Instead you close your eyes and focus on how _full_ you feel, stroking your stretched stomach because it’s both soothing and draws even more attention to it. Your cock has leaked pre onto your abdomen and you drag your fingers through the evidence of your arousal. 

What would Karkat think of you if he walked in now? 

You wait in a pleasant haze until it’s time to empty yourself out, which is, admittedly, not as fun as the rest of the experience. It is satisfying though, and it’s even more so to sink into a hot bath afterwards. You’re tempted to jack it, still hard as shit from your enema and thinking about what you want to happen next, but you want all your lust directed at him. 

So you close your eyes and let your mind wander to less sexy things. Peaceful things. Like what movie you want to watch with John and Rose at your next virtual movie night. Whether you want to try for the quarantine beard again, even though you made it three days before the itching made you give in last time. John looks like a lumberjack, the bastard. 

Eventually you get out. You check the common areas, hair dripping onto your t-shirt because of your complete lack of care for drying it once you decided it was time to make a move. Karkat must be in his room. You knock twice with the back of your hand and get ready to lean.

‘Yeah?’ he says.

You open the door and slouch against the doorframe.

‘Yo,’ you say. You’re the master of being casual. ‘You free, dude?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, closing his laptop lid and spinning in his chair to face you. ‘What’s up?’

Your brain kindly shits itself. Uhhh … What _is_ up? A philosophical question for the ages. _Jesus Christ, Dave, just **talk to him!**_

‘So,’ you say. ‘You ever think about the navy?’

‘The navy,’ he repeats tonelessly. 

‘Yeah. Like, okay, so they’re on boats, I mean ships, they’re on big fuckin’ ships out in the middle of the ocean and just, like, patrolling or something. I don’t know what they do in the navy, probably something important, right, unless it’s a tax haven but for the government and it’s all a scam, I mean, how would we even know if the navy was real, I ain’t never seen a torpedo.’

‘No, Dave, I don’t ever think about the navy,’ Karkat says. He’s the picture of judgemental. You have to save this.

‘Or, okay, what about boarding schools? But like the fancy, private ones. I mean, they’re all fancy, private ones, but the ones where it’s just for boys, boys who will probably end up in the navy come to think of it, or on Wall Street and that’s kind of the same thing.’

He blinks at you slowly. 

‘Wanna fuck?’ you ask.

A short burst of laughter explodes out of him. His eyebrows are somewhere near the moon. His eyes definitely dip down past your eyes and in the direction of checking you out. 

‘You’re not serious,’ he says.

‘Look, it’s in the bro code,’ you say. ‘If you’re in a situation where there’s just a couple of dudes, it’s basically law that they help each other out, I mean, give each other _a hand,_ pretend like I nailed that pun, kay?’

‘And it’s not gay if it’s just bulge shit, right,’ he says dryly. 

‘Nah, I want to get pretty gay with it.’ You waggle your eyebrows. 

He stares at you. His eyes keep flicking down to your chest. You’re taking that as a good sign.

‘I figure, like, we’re roommates,’ you say. ‘So if we have the out, you know, oh damn, we were just playing navy, no big, maybe slight awkwardness, but recoverable. Which is kinda important given the fact that we’re basically not allowed outside right now.’

He considers your proposition seriously this time. It’s hard to maintain your relaxed pose when you’re so invested in his answer.

‘Fuck,’ he says. ‘Let’s play navy, I guess.’

You resist the urge to pump the air in celebration. You sidle a bit closer. He stands up. The tension is real fuckin’ heavy as both of you wait for the other to make a move. After a couple of seconds that droop with the weight of eternity, he steps close to you and cups the back of your neck. 

‘Kissing is okay in the navy, right?’ he checks.

You nod, your mouth kinda dry with nerves. You lick your lips. His eyes follow the movement. A moment later, he has that lower lip between his and you groan with relief as you press closer to him. 

It’s messy from the onset, your tongues meeting and licking at each other as you kiss him with the enthusiasm of a guy who hasn’t got laid in way too long. He pulls you towards his bed and you slip your hand under his seasonally inappropriate sweater. He helps you take it off, pulling his shirt with it and you approve _so much._

He gets your shirt off too, but then you’re falling onto his bed, him pulling you on top and _hhhhhh_ that’s his bulge in his pants, thank _fuck,_ because you’re already hard as _physics,_ like the subject not the property of _being,_ though, you know what, that too. 

His claws dig into your back as he tries to pull you as close as it is actually possible for you to be, you’re trying desperately to get into his jeans, who the fuck wears jeans when it’s quarantine, he needs to get on team sweatpants because dear god you want his bulge in your hand right this second. You pinch the side of your finger on his zip in your rush and swear, rein in your fucking dick for a second and tug it down smoothly this time, but you can’t get into his pants because he won’t give you a single inch to do it. 

His thigh is pressing against your hard on and you’re grinding shamelessly into it as you struggle to touch him. He grips you by the hair and pulls your head to the side and closer to him so he can suck at your neck, an edge of teeth to it and yes _please,_ assertive Karkat.

‘You’re so hot,’ you groan. 

He releases you, stares at you with eyes full of lust and pulls your mouth back to his. You groan as he drags his claws down your back until he reaches your ass and grabs hold. He pulls your hips towards him, encouraging your rutting. You moan and have to pull back from kissing him because it’s so much, you bury your face in his neck as you thrust into his thigh, and _oh fuck—_

You jerk through your orgasm, face hot with embarrassment before you're even finished. You totally just creamed your fucking jeans like a teenager. 

‘Uhh …’ you say, face still hidden in his neck. 

‘Did you just …’

‘Yup.’ You lift yourself up from him awkwardly. ‘Listen, let me suck you, I swear to god I’ll be ready to go again almost as humiliatingly soon as it took me to blow that load.’

‘You don’t have to,’ he says. ‘Let me jerk off next to you, I won’t last long.’

‘My ass is so fucking clean right now you have no idea, I would _really_ like to take advantage of that and ride your bulge. Just give me a couple minutes to, you know ...’

His hand kneads into your ass in a gesture that feels pretty unconscious. He looks up at you in wonder. You're not sure how your shockingly short fuse has earned you this. 

‘Let me eat you out,’ he rasps.

‘Oh _hell_ yes.’

He rolls both of you so that he's on top and you pull at his pants before he even gets to yours. There's a minute of clumsy and desperate fumbling before you're both out of your pants and naked, which is the ideal state of being right now. His hand splays over your bare hip as he leans down to kiss you again. You can already feel your dick trying to get involved again. _Down,_ boy. Well, maybe not _down,_ but Christ, you could stand to be a _little_ less eager. 

He kisses you down your neck, down your chest. He touches your softening dick, wet with almost viscous come. You twitch involuntarily and he stops. He pulls your leg over to the side and you turn onto your front, lifting yourself onto your knees for him.

You feel really exposed. More so than when you’re being fucked. He’s about to turn his full attention and his _mouth_ onto your ass. You’re self conscious about what you look like, what you _taste_ like, and you can’t even see him to gauge his reactions. You press your face into your forearm, hot with embarrassment.

When he first licks you, you’re so self conscious that you can’t appreciate it. But then your body takes over the thinking business and informs your brain that it feels way too good to care about literally anything. 

His fingers dig into your cheeks as he pushes them apart, his tongue is warm dragging over your hole and when he makes a little satisfied moan, your stomach swoops and sensation tingles along your dick as it starts to stiffen again. 

He alternates licking slow and fast, lingering sometimes in a way that makes you want to grind against his mouth to keep him going, then quickening to a pace that has you whimpering into the mattress. And then he stills (and it’s so good your selfish thoughts almost succeed in getting you to protest), presses the tip of his tongue to your hole, and then _inside._

 _’Jesus fucking Christ,’_ you swear. When he pauses, you realise he’s in danger of checking it’s good swearing and elaborate real quick. ‘So good, oh my god, you’re amazing, _fuck,_ Karkat.’

He starts to push and pull his tongue in and out of you and you groan, arching your back more. His fingers drift closer to your hole too, pulling it open and then tracing around the rim with a gentle finger. You’re fully hard again and your hips are twitching with the need to move.

‘Karkat,’ you groan, ‘Karkat, fuck me, I’m so fucking turned on.’ He doesn’t so much as slow down and you find yourself getting desperate, _’Please,_ Kat, please fuck me.’ He reaches around to palm your dick instead of stopping and your knees shake uncontrollably. ‘Want your bulge,’ you beg brokenly.

He transitions from tongue-fucking you to licking at you again and you moan, barely able to hold yourself up anymore. He slaps your ass as he pulls his face away and your cock twitches in his hand.

You move to face him and eye his bulge hungrily. It’s _dripping._ You push him down onto the bed and straddle his hips insistently. His bulge reaches up to you, fully extended. 

When you lower yourself in reach of it, it drags wetly over everything, your ass, your balls, your dick, trying to wind around whatever it touches. He grips it around the base and you move closer, working together until it’s successfully guided into your ass. 

The tip is wet and thin and _so_ not enough, but it quickly widens to a thickness that has you closing your eyes and exhaling shakily. He strokes your thigh and you open your eyes to look at him. He’s biting his lip and watching you with immeasurable lust. You keep eye contact as you take the last of him inside you.

You start to roll your hips, sliding that thicker, stiffer base in and out. The length of his bulge twists inside you, stretching you in new ways that demand your attention. As you move, you feel pre, as much as a human’s completion, spurt from his bulge. You groan and speed up. 

His lip escapes his teeth when he gasps and then his throat chirrs when he releases the breath. It’s the same noise you heard through the wall, the one that’s been driving you crazy, and it makes a thrill run through you, your asshole twitching tighter without meaning it. His claws tighten on your thigh in response. His other hand goes to your hip and urges you to keep moving.

You do. His bulge turns and rolls inside you as you ride him. Your ass feels so sensitive and full, and you’re moving completely instinctively to keep those feelings going. 

_’Fuck,_ Dave,’ he moans. He chirrs again, almost an animalistic and definitely involuntary noise. ‘Need nook,’ he pants, ‘might need to swap.’

Not all trolls can get off with just one or the other, like how not all humans can come through their asses or whatever. You pause to think and he whimpers. You kind of want to too.

‘Lift your leg,’ you say, pulling on his thigh until his knee is bent. ‘I’m gonna brace on this, okay?’ 

You splay your hand on his leg and lean back so you can reach his nook. You run your fingers over his swollen sheath, then down to the lips of his nook. He whines and his leg twitches under your hand. You start moving again as you slip two slurry-wet fingers inside him. He groans and jerks his hips to meet you. 

‘Yeah, keep doing that,’ you urge.

He nods distractedly and moves at an almost frantic pace. You grind against him and try and move your fingers in synchronisation. His movements contribute as much to your fingering as you do, the hot, wet muscles clenching around you as you thrust together. 

_’Jesus Christ,’_ he gasps.

When he wraps his hand around your cock, you make an embarrassing noise between a moan and a grunt. He strokes you with a loose grip and you speed all your vaguely coordinated movements up so that you can fuck his hand, so hard your head is completely past your foreskin and drooling sticky pre on his palm. He speeds up too, and it’s messy, it’s really fucking messy, you’re both just chasing the good feelings in a way that’s so completely distracted from any other consideration, least of all aesthetics, but he still looks so fucking hot underneath you, like he’s about to blow his load any second ...

But probably not before you.

God _dammit,_ you literally just came and you can’t—

‘Karkat, I’m gonna fuckin’ come,’ you groan.

His hands tighten around your cock and hip.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Come for me Dave, want to see …’

His hand on your hip is the only thing keeping your movements even slightly in rhythm as you squeeze your eyes shut and buck your way roughly to orgasm. You lift your hips weakly as your dick spills onto him, his bulge suddenly _way_ too mobile for you. His hand leaves your dick and he pulls out. You take your fingers from his nook as well and shake off the haze as you climb off his lap and beside him. 

‘Wait,’ he groans as you bend down to take his bulge in your mouth.

You pause and look at him questioningly. He rolls slightly and reaches under the bed, straightening with a bucket. He looks ready to leave it on the floor and go to it, so you take the handle from him and he lets you direct him until he’s kneeling over it on the bed and you’re ready to suck his bulge again.

‘This cool?’ you check.

 _’Please,’_ he says.

You reach back to finger his nook as you take him into your mouth. His slurry drips down your fingers and undoubtedly worsens the red stain you picked up there. Your legs feel wet with it as well, and it’s slick on your lips as you slide them down his length. His hands go unsteadily to the back of your head and he groans.

‘I’m so close …’

You hum your understanding and give him a third finger, sucking rhythmically on his bulge with tiny little bobs that are more so your tongue pulses along his length than for the in-out motion a human would want. 

_’Fuck,’_ he moans, pressing his crotch closer to your face.

You swallow a mouthful of his pre, tongue pressing into his bulge as you do, and keep sucking, keep fingering. Slurry drips with increasing _lops_ into the bucket and you moan around him encouragingly. It’s almost disappointing when he wrenches his bulge out and forces it still in the direction of the bucket. Slurry pours from it and his nook. You continue to massage his nook until it slows enough that you don’t think you’re going to splash it everywhere by withdrawing.

You’re basically covered in red. It’s running down your forearm, you can feel it sticky against your throat where it spilled out of your lips, your ass and general crotch area is probably worst of all. 

You watch as he catches his breath and then practically falls back onto the bed. You grab the bucket and ease it safely onto the ground. 

‘Uh, they cuddle in the navy too, probably,’ you say, in what is definitely a casual tone. 

He shifts lazily, grimaces at the wet patch, and then holds his arms open. You feel yourself blush a little before you get yourself in there. Affection probably shouldn’t be the embarrassing thing after all that, but you felt like you were putting yourself out there by asking. You lay your head on his chest and he squeezes your shoulder.

‘Does this mean I can just go up to you, say “navy”, and get sex?’ he asks.

‘Definitely,’ you say. ‘That’s absolutely what this means.’

‘Nice,’ he says. 

You smile into his chest. You’re probably okay with quarantine lasting a bit longer.


End file.
